"We have plenty of bread," remarked Therese, on whom the young man's gentleness, application and discretion had produced good effect.
"I shall never forget your kindness, madame," he said, about to excuse himself, when he caught the host's eye and guessed that it would offend him.
"I accept," he said.
He went up to his loft, with the bread and money.
"At last I am my own master," he said to himself, "or should be but for this bread, which is from charity."
Although hungry, he placed it on the window sill and did not touch it during the night, though famine made him remember it.
He woke up at daylight, but still he did not eat the bread. He took it up, though, and at five o'clock, went down and outdoors.
From suspicion, or merely to study his guest, Rousseau was on the lookout, and he followed the youth up the street.
A beggar coming up to Gilbert, he gave him the hunk of bread. Entering the baker's, he bought another roll.
"He is going into the eating-house," thought the watcher, "where the money will soon fly."